


Dare Not Touch the Sun

by lawsofchaos



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Holding Hands, Inspired by Art, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Soft Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawsofchaos/pseuds/lawsofchaos
Summary: In his quiet moments, Alec thinks of Magnus. He thinks of the glitter and the sparkle that surround him, from his gleaming jewelry and his shimmering make-up to the coruscant sparks of magic that flicker constantly in absentminded trails over lithe and agile hands. In his quiet moments, Alec thinks of Magnus and imagines he’s at his most beautiful and glittering when every adornment is removed and Magnus lies supine on their bed, a king accepting reverence from his subject.This is what Alec makes himself remember the next time Magnus swans into the Institute, inclining his head in greeting instead of shaking Alec’s hand.In which Alec and Magnus just want to hold each other's hand.~Inspired by Artwork by Kuro2612~
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 82
Kudos: 444





	Dare Not Touch the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuro2612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuro2612/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Holding Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/624907) by Kuro2612. 



> **Kuro2612** posted this AMAZING fan art yesterday, and it gave me ALL THE FEELS. The way they drew Magnus and Alec's hands, the way it's so tender and it looks like Alec is afraid to hold Magnus' hand too tight, like he doesn't dare try to keep Magnus where Magnus may not want to be held? Oh be still my beating heart.
> 
> Also, Kuro2612 has drawn this image as part of a series of Malec holding hands, and I would _highly_ recommend going to stare in awe at all the others. They are absolutely incredible. Kuro, a million thanks for giving me permission to write this fic inspired by your art!

When Magnus made the decision to let a _nephilim_ into his heart, the youngest head of the New York Institute in two centuries and a fully vested member of the Clave moreover, he’d known his penchant for public displays of affection would have to be curtailed.

Alec maintained a rigid, impermeable barrier delineating his personal space, the bubble near visible in its efficacy, and ruthlessly enforced. Only his siblings ever dared to encroach, and, even then, only when they were sequestered alone in isolated training rooms or in Alec’s office, doors firmly closed behind them.

Magnus had been honored beyond words the first time that Jace had waltzed past him sitting on Alec’s couch and wrapped Alec in a firm hug, demanding he rest and let the problems of the Institute lie, “for the rest of the night at least.” When Isabelle had come behind Alec’s chair at his desk far too late another evening, gently massaging tense shoulders and dropping a loving kiss on tousled hair, Magnus had never been so pleased for his presence to remain unacknowledged. 

Jace and Isabelle couldn’t have announced any louder that Magnus was family.

So, Magnus, who revels in the casual touches and lazy cuddles and impromptu kisses from those he allows a place in his heart and in his life, tells himself to be content.

Alec didn’t grow up in a place where such affection was tolerated, not between partners or spouses or even among families. Magnus knows that Alec grew up being taught that emotions were volatile and dangerous, needing always to be leashed and controlled. Magnus has witnessed Alec reporting to Maryse; he knows well that her hardened demeanor doesn’t soften in private.

But Isabelle is a force unto herself and Magnus knows that it’s her he has to thank for Alec’s willingness to show his love at all. For all their relatively small separation in years, Magnus knows that it’s Alec who raised her, Alec who taught her to read and to fight, Alec whose bed she ran to when nightmares threatened. 

Isabelle is a creature of love and laughter, unrestrained in the face of a world that teaches her it’s wrong, and Magnus knows Alec would never have thought to deny her. Alec would have returned every hug and cuddled after every nightmare. 

Jace, for all his late entry into the small and loving world of the Lightwood siblings and for all the horrible scars that Valentine had left on his young and malleable mind, would never have stood a chance. 

Magnus knows it’s because of Isabelle, because of Jace, that Alec can step into Magnus’s loft and let the twin burdens of restraint and leadership slide off his shoulders. It’s because of his siblings that Alec can hold Magnus so tightly, so tenderly, that the outside world fades away. It’s because of them Magnus knows he can curl up in the piece of Alec’s heart that belongs to Magnus and Magnus alone and know that he is truly and utterly adored, utterly _loved_. 

It’s because of them that even when the physical trappings of his and Alec’s relationship- the all-consuming kisses, the warm embraces, the heartfelt words and declarations- even when they all stay firmly within the walls of Magnus’ loft, Magnus knows he is loved.

So, Magnus, who revels in the casual touches and lazy cuddles and impromptu kisses from those he allows a place in his heart and in his life, tells himself to be content.

Alone each night, the two of them intermingling breaths and heartbeats in the still and quiet of his bed, Alec is his, wholly and utterly. Magnus _can_ be, he _is_ , content with what they have. 

He can control the desire to take Alec’s hand as they stroll down crowded Brooklyn sidewalks or to press a chaste kiss to Alec’s cheek as they part at the doors of the Institute. He can stamp down his yearning to brush a stray curl from Alec’s eyes after a long Cabinet meeting or to let his gaze linger in coy appreciation when he finds Alec sparring and shirtless in a crowded training room.

He can suppress the small part of him that delights in loving freely and openly and daring the world to spit in his face. 

Alec loves him. He can be content.

  
  


___________________________________

Alec adores Magnus. He adores him wholly and utterly and with a ferocity of love and affection he thought himself incapable of feeling for anyone but his siblings.

Whenever the two of them are together, Alec is thoroughly captivated, unable to tear his eyes from the warlock who brought joy and desire and happiness into his life. 

In his quiet moments, Alec thinks of Magnus. He thinks of the glitter and the sparkle that surround him, from his gleaming jewelry and his shimmering make-up to the coruscant sparks of magic that flicker constantly in absentminded trails over lithe and agile hands. In his quiet moments, Alec thinks of Magnus and imagines he’s at his most beautiful and glittering when every adornment is removed and Magnus lies supine on their bed, a king accepting reverence from his subject. 

So when Magnus stands at the door and watches Alec teaching a trainee blocks, shirt long-since removed, and Magnus keeps his gaze level and cool, Alec takes note. He drinks his fill of Magnus’ breath-stealing beauty and his lithe, leonine grace at the loft. He makes certain to keep his regard to himself outside those doors. 

Magnus guides him down crowded sidewalks, telling tales of his day, hands swinging loosely at his sides until voice alone isn’t enough and hands come up, elegant fingers shaping stories as Alec traces his gaze over every chimeric image. When Magnus’ stories end, gesticulating limbs drifting back down, Alec’s own hands twitch in fervent longing, but Magnus shoves suddenly clenched fists deep in pockets at the first flutter of nervous anticipation. 

Later, Alec will trace trails down elegant fingers with his lips, reveling in the sensation of cool metal and blood-warm skin, pressing devoted kisses to each painted nail. Later still, walking down a different set of sidewalks, Alec knows to keep his hands to himself.

Alec learns quickly, wholly attentive to Magnus, _always_ , utterly incapable of tearing his gaze away whenever they’re together, quietly cataloging every flinch and every waver when Alec drifts too close. 

Outside Alec’s office, outside the quiet sanctuary of Magnus’ home, Alec aches to take Magnus in his arms, to hold his hand. He longs to lay a loving kiss on a shimmering cheek, to proclaim to the world that this man is _his_ choice and Magnus, gorgeous, compassionate, and devastatingly powerful Magnus, has chosen _Alec_ in turn.

Alec was born to the Clave, born to a culture where actions mean far more than pretty words or messages wrapped in political doublespeak. 

But Magnus was not. 

So Alec ignores the questioning glances at the impersonal and distant greetings Magnus gives him before the Cabinet. He forces himself to still his questing hands, to keep his gaze distant and professional, to constrain himself from veering too close in narrow corridors, adamant to avoid seeking the warmth and comfort in deliberate brushes of shoulder against shoulder or skin against skin.

Alec hungers. 

But he keeps himself separate.

When the wards of the loft shimmer to their full strength each night, doors closed behind them, shielding the two of them from the world, Alec falls into Magnus with poorly hidden desperation, soaking in the warmth and the love and the affection, sating his touch hunger with bevys of lingering caresses over shared meals and nights home. He curls himself into Magnus at night, reveling in the full-body press of skin to skin. 

Magnus twines himself over Alec in his sleep and Alec has lain awake for hours on end just to savor the weight of Magnus on top of him, the clinging tightness of Magnus’ arms around his chest, the entanglement of Magnus’ legs with his own. Alec has lain awake for _hours_ on end, preserving these moments in his memory. 

This is what Alec remembers the next time Magnus swans into the Institute, inclining his head in greeting instead of shaking Alec’s hand.

  
  


  
  


___________________________________

  
  
  


Magnus basks in the affection that Alec gives so freely whenever they’re alone, delighting in Alec’s obvious enchantment with every brush of skin. He delights even _more_ in the soft laughter every time Magnus shoves dignity aside and sits himself down in Alec’s lap for dinner on their couch, Alec’s normal reserve put aside when he nuzzles Magnus’ neck from behind and feeds him bites of noodles off his fork. 

With any other partner, Magnus would be terrified of giving himself so freely behind closed doors and closed doors alone. With any other partner, Magnus would be terrified of what it means that he can’t so much as hold his partner’s hands outside the sanctuary of his home. 

But Alec adores him with an intensity that Magnus _clings_ to in the dark recesses of his thoughts, convincing himself not to hope for anything more, convincing himself of his luck in somehow being found worthy of the sheer magnitude and fidelity of Alec’s love.

It’s enough.

  
  


___________________________________

  
  


Magnus is curled up in a plush armchair, Alec’s favorite from the loft. He’d summoned it last night (or was it this morning?) once the infirmary staff had done as much they could and left, leaving instruments alone to monitor his lover. 

The armchair is burgundy, a plush velvet with brass tacking, and it clashes violently with the pale blue hospital blankets and the otherwise minimalist decor. 

Magnus doesn’t care.

Magnus simply curls up in the chair and traces the lines on Alexander’s face with his gaze. Alec is pale, far too pale, but his breathing is finally deep and even instead of shallow and pained. 

(Magnus carefully doesn’t remember the gasping breaths, liquid and sharp, from only a few hours prior.)

He traces the lines on Alexander’s face with his gaze and keeps a careful grip on both of his knees. Magnus clutches them desperately, nails digging into skin tightly enough that he knows they’ll leave bloody crescents even through his pants. 

Alec’s arms are resting gently on top of the scratchy, blue hospital linens and Magnus is acutely aware of just how much he longs to stretch out his hand and take Alec’s in his. He imagines the relief of feeling the pulse under Alec’s skin, warm and alive. He imagines the solace and comfort in tracing gentle lines down rough archer’s calluses and knowing he wouldn’t miss the first twitches of wakening. 

But Alec’s Shadowhunters have been poking their heads through the door without warning all evening, checking on their Head, needing to see him themselves, needing to see him breathing and well. Tonight was far too close.

Magnus keeps his hands to himself.

  
  
  


___________________________________

Alec drifts into waking with the shifting awareness from nothingness to dimness, the cloudy realization of _being_ that only comes after deep unconsciousness. 

Alec has far too much experience with that particular shifting of awareness. 

He doesn’t move at first, doesn’t so much as open his eyes, but he takes careful stock of his body, gently twitching muscle groups until he knows where he’s injured. 

His limbs are fine, but his torso is a blaze of heaviness and prickling warmth that Alec knows will be keeping him on the casualty list for a not insignificant time. He finally dares to blink open his eyes and Alec smiles, charmed.

Magnus has summoned his armchair from the loft, eschewing the hard, straight-backed visitor’s chair Alec himself has cursed many a time while keeping vigil over Jace or Izzy. Magnus is sprawled forward, still technically sitting in the chair, with his upper torso positioned at an awkward angle across Alec’s bed.

Magnus is still clearly deeply asleep, even pretzel-crunched as he is, Alec’s careful twitching not having garnered a stir. 

Alec takes a minute to sweep his gaze over the most stunning face he’s ever seen, looking for any signs of exhaustion or pain. He doesn’t quite remember what happened to land him in this bed, but it appears Magnus, at least, is uninjured.

Magnus’ skin is shimmering in the dim light coming through the massive stained glass image of Raziel behind Alec’s bed, the traces of yesterday’s make-up not yet removed. Magnus’ hair is less spiky than usual, however, looking soft and touchable in a way that Alec so rarely sees outside the loft.

Alec longs to move his hand to stroke through that hair, but he keeps himself still. An Institute infirmary is nothing if not public, and he knows it won’t be long before staff bustle through on rounds. 

He keeps looking though, shifting his neck for a better view, and his breath catches.

Magnus’ hand- his beautiful, elegant, dextrous hand- is splayed out on the covers, palm open and fingers gently curled in repose, bare _inches_ from Alec’s own hand, rough and callused as it is. 

Alec stares, Magnus’ skin a warm contrast against the blue beneath. He’s breathless with a sudden craving, fierce and desperate, to hold that hand in his. He’s hurting and tired and Magnus’ hand is _right there._

Alec’s hand quivers and he twitches it forward, barely brushing Magnus’ skin. 

Alec peers at Magnus’ face, looking for any forewarning movements. Magnus doesn’t wake. 

Slowly, barely breathing, Alec slips his hand a single bit further, sliding it underneath Magnus’ own.

He freezes, waiting, but Magnus doesn’t stir and he carefully lets himself stroke his thumb over the cool edges where Magnus’ rings meet skin. 

The familiar motion is soothing and tranquil, almost hypnotic, and Alec curls forward, curving himself like a comma around where his and Magnus’ hands are joined. He closes his eyes, unsure if he’s ever been so relaxed in the infirmary before, and just keeps up the gentle, self-soothing motion. 

He’ll stop when anyone comes in. He promises himself he will.

The infirmary is silent and he keeps stroking rhythmically across Magnus’ rings, breathing slow and even.

Magnus’ hand twitches.

Alec freezes and his eyes snap open to meet the elongated pupils that still take his breath away every time he’s allowed to see them. 

Almost against his will, Alec’s thumb presses down, gently, softly, trapping Magnus’ hand within his own. There’s no such pressure that would make it at all difficult for Magnus to pull away, but this is Alec’s silent plea.

He knows it’s public, knows Magnus is intensely private, but Alec _wants._

_“_ Please?” He murmurs, looking up at Magnus. “Just this once?”

And Magnus must understand because he twines his fingers to make their hold suddenly equal and Alec is so grateful that he twists down even further to press a thankful forehead against Magnus’ palm.

“Alexander, darling-” Magnus’ voice is soft and questioning, wondering and uncertain in a way that Alec hates to hear. His chest twinges warningly when he shifts up to meet Magnus’s gaze, unable to _not_ respond when Magnus sounds like _that._

He rushes to backtrack, suddenly loosening his clasp in a rush of mortification, “It’s- it’s okay. I forgot-“

And Magnus hushes him, holding tighter to make sure Alec doesn’t tug his hand away, interrupting his outpouring of words with a simple repetition of his name. 

“Alexander.”

Alec stills.

“I- I thought-“ Magnus is so rarely at a loss for words that Alec’s chest tightens. “I thought you were uncomfortable with any indications of public- public _intimacy_?”

It’s a question, not a statement, and Alec’s heart beats faster.

“Me?” He asks incredulously. “I thought- I thought _you?_ ”

Magnus is blinking now, hard and quick, tears glimmering under his lashes, and his voice is tinged with wetness when he speaks. “Are you telling me that for _months_ we’ve been holding back for each other’s sake, and _neither_ of us wanted that?”

Alec can’t laugh, it would hurt too much, but he curls forward again to press his forehead back down against their hands, now clutching each other tightly, Magnus’s rings digging into Alec’s skin.

“Magnus,” he whispers, just for the two of them, “I love you more deeply than I ever believed it possible to love. I want to _shout_ it from the Institute steps that you chose _me,_ over anyone else. You chose _me,_ and it’s the greatest honor and privilege in my life that you let me love you back.” 

Magnus doesn’t respond for a long moment and Alec waits, unmoving, feeling the pulse in Magnus’ wrist flutter in his hold. He keeps his eyes closed, waiting for Magnus to respond.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus finally breathes out. 

The warlock stands in a sudden, sinuous movement, the burgundy armchair popping away, presumably back to the loft, before Alec can react. Never moving his hand from Alec’s, Magnus’ clothing shimmers before being replaced with the loose garments Magnus wears at night, hair falling forwards in silken waves as gel and colored streaks alike disappear.

A single snap with his untrapped hand and Alec’s infirmary bed is suddenly large enough to fit the Shadowhunter’s lanky frame with room to spare, room Magnus glances at with a silent question in his eyes.

Alec moves quicker than his injured chest appreciates, but there is very little that could make him pause when Magnus is moving to climb in next to him. There’s a dip in the mattress as the warlock’s weight is shifted, and Alec and Magnus twine together, Alec ending up halfway on Magnus, propped up on a strong chest with his ear resting over Magnus’ heart.

Alec closes his eyes, still clasping Magnus’ hand with his own, refusing to let it go, refusing to let go of the physical reminder that this is _real,_ that Magnus wants to claim Alec, _publicly,_ the same way Alec wants to claim _him_.

A door opens in the distance and sharp footsteps approach the bed from Alec’s back, the slightest disruption in rhythm betraying the owner’s surprise. 

Neither Magnus nor Alec move.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, a huge thank you to **Kuro2612** for giving permission for me to post this fic, inspired by their STUNNING artwork. Also, a giant thank you and a million hugs to **AceOnIce** , the best beta a writer could ever ask for! 
> 
> 🌻❤️❤️ Kudos make me smile, but comments make my day! ❤️❤️🌻


End file.
